Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  “I know he doesn’t do it on purpose,” Danny said as they searched for a place to park at Logan. “But every time we talk about Harvard, he brings up how much it would have meant to my mom to have her son go to Harvard.”

  “You sure he’s not doing it on purpose?” Terrell said.

  Danny gave him a look. “Good point,” he said.

  They were on the same flight to Atlanta because Danny had to change planes there to get to Nashville. They managed to get aisle seats across from each other, which was especially important to Terrell. Squeezing his six-foot seven-inch frame into a coach seat was tough.

  The flight was packed, which was not surprising on a Friday afternoon. Just before the doors closed, a tall man dressed in an expensive suit hustled down the aisle and sat in what appeared to be the last empty seat—right in front of Terrell.

  He gave Terrell and Danny a friendly smile and nod as he sat down. A minute later, the plane backed off the gate. They taxied to the runway where—surprise, surprise—the pilot told them they were twenty-first in line and should be ready for takeoff in “twenty minutes or so.”

  Terrell looked at Danny, who already had that week’s Sports Illustrated open in front of him. “The ‘or so’ means it could be forty-five minutes, you know,” he said.

  Danny nodded. “Nothing we can do about it,” he said. “Might as well read or sleep.”

  Terrell was about to put his head back when the late arrival seated in front of him leaned around his seat and put out his hand. “Glenn Hitchcock,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you in coach, Terrell. Figured you’d be in first class.”

  Terrell glanced at Danny, who shrugged and buried his head in the magazine. “If being in first class would get us going, I’d be all for it,” he said.

  The guy laughed much too hard at Terrell’s little joke. “Where you headed?”

  Terrell was tempted to simply say “Atlanta,” but figured the truth would be easier. Technically, schools weren’t allowed to announce official recruiting visits, but somehow the news always leaked out. He knew there had been a number of stories in the past week about the fact that he would be visiting Atlanta and Mass State the next two weekends. So he said, “Going to visit the University of Atlanta.”

  “Really? Very cool. Great school. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Did you go there?”

  Hitchcock laughed too hard again. “No, no. But I live down there. I’m a season ticket holder. I know Coach Hathaway pretty well. Good guy…very good guy.”

  “So you’re heading home, then,” Terrell said, trying to figure a way to wind down the conversation.

  “Yeah, I was up here seeing some clients. I’m an investment banker.”

  Terrell wasn’t a hundred percent certain what an investment banker did, but he figured Glenn Hitchcock was in the business of trying to make rich people richer.

  “I actually represent quite a few athletes and coaches. Couple guys with the Celtics. That’s who I was up here to see.”

  “Really?” Terrell asked. “Who?”

  Hitchcock smiled. “They don’t like me to talk about it. Part of our deal. I don’t use their names to help me attract other clients. But let me put it this way: The players don’t spend a lot of time on the bench.”

  Terrell nodded. Six months ago he would have been awed by the notion of talking to someone who knew two members of the Celtics well. Now, he not only wasn’t awed, he wasn’t even sure he believed the guy. If he was such a hotshot, why was he traveling in coach?

  “Look, here’s my card,” Hitchcock said, a card magically appearing in his hand. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know.”

  Terrell took the card and looked at it: GLENN HITCHCOCK, MAGIC INVESTMENT CO. “What could you do for me?” he asked. “I haven’t got any money to invest.”

  Hitchcock laughed. “I know that, Terrell, but that’ll change someday. In the meantime, if you need NBA tickets—any city—or tickets to just about anything, I can help. Concerts too. If you end up at U of A, I know all the good restaurants and clubs. You won’t lack for a social life, I can promise you that.”

  Terrell was wondering when the guy was going to tell him that Charles Barkley wanted to give him a call. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Hitchcock was still talking just as the pilot came on to say the delay would be a “few more minutes.”

  “Anything I can do to help,” Hitchcock was saying as Terrell tried to drift off to sleep.

  Just once, Terrell thought, I’d like to meet someone who doesn’t want to do anything he can to help.

  The flight landed almost an hour late. Terrell had expected to be greeted at the gate by one of the assistant coaches, but it was Grant Hathaway who was standing right there, along with one of his assistants—having magically gotten through security without a ticket.

  “I thought you guys were never going to get out of Boston,” Hathaway said, greeting Terrell and Danny like long-lost friends. “Danny, I know your connection’s very tight, so we’ve got a guy with a cart waiting over there to get you to your gate. Tell Kevin Stallings I’m jealous we couldn’t convince you to visit.”

  Kevin Stallings was the coach at Vanderbilt. Danny looked a little bit stunned that Hathaway knew his schedule. “Thanks, Coach,” he said. “That’s really nice of you.” Then he and Terrell exchanged a quick handshake, and he was off by cart to catch his connecting flight.

  Terrell was about to say something to Coach Hathaway when he noticed that Glenn Hitchcock was hovering.

  “Hey, Glenn!” Hathaway said, appearing surprised. “Were you on this flight too? Hey, come and meet one of the next great players, Terrell Jamerson.”

  “Actually, I sat one row in front of him,” Hitchcock said. “First class was sold out. Come on, Grant, you know I keep up. I know just who Terrell is.”

  Hathaway had his arm around Hitchcock. “One of the good guys,” he said to Terrell. “Someone you can actually trust. I don’t let very many people hang around our guys, but Glenn’s an exception.” He turned to Hitchcock and asked, “What were you doing up in Boston?”

  “Went to see some of my guys.”

  “Doc and Rondo?” Hathaway said, referring, Terrell knew, to the Celtics’ coach, Doc Rivers, and point guard Rajon Rondo.

  “You know I don’t talk about that,” Hitchcock said.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” Hathaway said. He turned back to Terrell. “You got bags we need to pick up? Or are you set?”

  “All set,” Terrell replied.

  They were walking through the crowded concourse now, picking their way between people.

  “You guys need a ride?” Hitchcock said.

  “No, no, we’re fine,” Hathaway said. “My car’s right outside.”

  “You guys going out to eat?”

  “My guess is Terrell’s a little bit hungry. Or were the peanuts on the plane enough for you, Terrell?”

  Terrell grinned. “There were some cookies too,” he said. “But I’m starving.”

  “Good!” Hathaway said. “Ever heard of the Palm?”

  Terrell had heard of it. In fact, that was where he’d been taken out to eat during his visit to UCLA. He hadn’t realized there was more than one. “You mean, like the one in LA?” he said.

  “Yeah, exactly,” Hathaway said. “Glenn, you want to join us?”

  “Can’t,” Hitchcock said. “Meeting someone down the road.”

  “Well, bring her by for a drink later if you want,” Hathaway said.

  “How’d you know it was a her?” Hitchcock said, with a big smile on his face.

  “Because I know you,” Hathaway answered.

  The coach and his friend had a good laugh at that one. Terrell decided to focus on the steak he was going to eat at the Palm.

  An hour later, he was doing just that. Coach Hathaway hadn’t been kidding about his car being right outside. After they had ridden the underground train from concourse C to the terminal, they walked outsi
de the door, where a man in a red cap stood waiting, seemingly just for them.

  He flipped a set of car keys to Hathaway, who pointed to a silver Tahoe sitting right at the curb. “Hop in.”

  Terrell did while Hathaway waved at the red cap and said, “Thanks, Jake. See you soon.”

  “Get us a good one, Coach,” Jake yelled back.

  “Do you always get to park like this?” Terrell said as they buckled in and Coach Hathaway peeled out into traffic.

  “Pretty much,” Coach Hathaway said. “You’d be amazed the support we have in this town right now. We’ve left Georgia Tech in the dust as Atlanta’s college basketball team.”

  Georgia Tech had been to the Final Four, and Atlanta had only been playing Division I ball for six years. But Tech had struggled in recent years, and Atlanta’s run to the Sweet Sixteen the previous year had brought it a lot of national attention. As if reading his mind, Coach Hathaway said, “You know we’re playing twelve games on ESPN this season?”

  “All on ESPN?” Terrell asked.

  “No, but these days there’s not much difference between ESPN, ESPN2, and the U.” Then he added, “Next season, if we have another good year, we’ll be on Game Day.”

  Terrell caught himself smiling at the mention of Game Day. That was the show ESPN aired during both football and basketball season where its announcers went to a campus and broadcast before and after the so-called big game. The ESPN publicity machine had hyped it to the point where, well, coaches mentioned it to recruits. Terrell remembered watching it once with Danny and his dad. When the cameras showed a shot of a group of students with painted faces screaming and mugging for the cameras, Coach Wilcox had turned to them and said, “If I ever hear that either one of you even knows a kid who acts like that, I’ll disown both of you.”

  Terrell had laughed. “Coach, you aren’t my father.”

  “Whatever. I’ll disown you anyway,” Coach Wilcox had answered.

  When they arrived at the Palm, which was located in the lobby of what was clearly a very upscale hotel, everyone—from the valet parker to the maître d’ to the waiters to the chef, who came out of the kitchen to ask Terrell exactly what he wanted to eat—treated them like kings.

  “Is this really Terrell?” the manager of the restaurant said when he rushed over to the table after they’d been seated. He pumped Terrell’s hand. “I’m not sure what’s more exciting, having you in my restaurant or the thought of you in a U of A uniform next season.”

  “I’ll take the latter, Jerry,” Hathaway said. “Even though I love you and your food.”

  It was like that all night. Terrell was devouring the massive porterhouse he had ordered when he heard Coach Hathaway say, “Hey, Derek, Carlos—come and meet someone!”

  Terrell looked up to see Derek Rose and Carlos Boozer walking over to the table. He remembered that the Bulls were in town for a game the following night.

  “Terrell Jamerson,” Boozer said, shaking hands. “Coach K has told me all about you.”

  “Hey, alumni aren’t allowed to talk to recruits!” Hathaway said, half joking. Boozer had gone to Duke.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Boozer said. “Well, I’ll be honest and tell you that if you want to have a good time in college, this is the coach for you.”

  That became more apparent as the night went on. Terrell lost track of the number of attractive women who came by the table to say hello to them. Just as they were finishing dessert and Terrell was beginning to feel extremely tired, another couple wandered over to the table to say hello.

  The guy was, Terrell guessed, about forty. He was extremely well dressed. His date—Terrell guessed she was his date because he had his arm wrapped around her waist—was considerably younger, barely out of college.

  “Grant, I see you’ve brought the Messiah,” the guy said. “Terrell, good to see you here. I’m Stewart Jenkins from Athena. This is my friend, Brandi.”

  “Do you spell it with an ‘I’ or a ‘Y’?” Terrell asked.

  “With an ‘I,’ ” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” Terrell said, hoping he didn’t have a foolish grin on his face. He remembered reading somewhere that 90 percent of the women who entered beauty pageants were named Tiffany, Amber, or Brandi—as opposed to Brandy.

  “Sit down, join us,” Coach Hathaway was saying.

  Brandi sat down next to Terrell, and Stewart Jenkins sat down next to Coach Hathaway.

  “So, Terrell, you have any Athena gear?” Jenkins asked as he signaled a waiter to refill his and Brandi’s drinks.

  “No, I don’t,” Terrell said. “It’s kind of expensive.”

  Jenkins laughed as if Terrell had just told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “We can fix that, can’t we, Grant?”

  Coach Hathaway shook his head. “I can’t fix anything, Stewart—you know that. NCAA rules. I can buy Terrell dinner and take him to our football game tomorrow and make sure he’s well fed until he flies home Sunday morning. That’s about it.”

  Terrell wasn’t really listening because Brandi had moved so close to him that she was brushing up against him. It was, to say the least, distracting. If either of the men sitting across from him noticed, they didn’t say anything.

  “Well,” Stewart Jenkins said. “There’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t help him out, is there? I’m not a representative of the school. Terrell’s already met my boss, Stan Montana. Right, Terrell? Heck, if what I’ve read about Terrell here is true, I work for the competition just as much as I work for you, right?”

  “Terrell is visiting Mass State next weekend,” Coach Hathaway said. “Unless, of course, we can convince him this weekend that the trip will be a waste of time.” He smiled at Terrell just as Brandi pushed up against him a little bit more. “Any chance we can do that, Terrell?”

  “Don’t think so, Coach,” Terrell said. “I promised my mom I’d visit all the schools who came to see me. But it’s nice of you to make me feel wanted.”

  “Oh honey, you’re wanted,” Brandi said. “Trust me, you’re wanted.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Terrell was about to tell Coach Hathaway he was exhausted when, as if reading his mind again, the coach announced that it was time for Terrell to get some sleep, since he had to wake up early to have breakfast with his “future teammates.”

  Terrell hoped no one noticed his sigh of relief. They all got up, and both Stewart Jenkins and Brandi hugged him to say good night. When Brandi looked up at him and said, “Oh my, you certainly are tall,” Terrell was convinced he was in a bad movie.

  “Hope you had fun,” Coach Hathaway said when they were back in the car.

  “Oh yeah, it was great, Coach,” he said. “The food was fantastic.”

  Coach Hathaway gave him a sideways glance as if trying to read his face in the darkened car. “I’m sorry if Brandi came on a little strong,” he said. “There are a lot of good-looking women in Atlanta who love our team.”

  Terrell wasn’t sure how to answer that—so he didn’t. A couple of minutes later they pulled into the Ritz-Carlton, Buckhead, which was where Terrell would be spending the night. UCLA had put him up at the Four Seasons in LA, so the trappings of the five-star hotel weren’t new to him. Still, having everyone in the place say, “Hello, Coach Hathaway,” as they walked to the front desk was impressive.

  “I’ll leave you with Tony,” Coach Hathaway said once Terrell had been given a room key and a bellman had come to take his one and only bag from him. “Just follow him. He’ll take care of you.” As Tony started in the direction of the elevator, Coach Hathaway leaned closer to him and said, “Don’t worry about the tip. It’s taken care of.” Terrell was glad to hear that.

  Tony jabbered on about all the stars he’d “gotten to know” while working at the Ritz as the elevator took them upstairs. “They got you a suite,” he said, putting the key in the door. “You must be a big-timer. Most of our recruits just get regular rooms.”

  Our recruits?
Terrell thought. He wondered if Tony used that line on everyone who the U of A—as everyone in town called the school—put up at the hotel. Actually, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to be alone so he could get some sleep.

  The phone rang at 7:00 a.m. Terrell had been dreaming that a dozen women who all looked like Brandi were chasing him down a hallway. He rolled over and answered it, and a cheerful voice reminded him he was being picked up in the lobby at 7:30.

  Right, he remembered. Breakfast with his future teammates.

  Two of them were waiting for him when he got downstairs, still blinking sleep from his eyes even after a lengthy shower. Both wore black-and-red Athena sweat suits, and he knew who they were right away: DeMarcus Suliman, the sophomore shooting guard, and James Tennyson, the junior center. Every story he’d read about the U of A indicated that one or both wanted to turn pro at the end of the season, so their status as “future teammates” was questionable.

  Even so, he liked them right away. The three of them piled into Tennyson’s jeep and headed toward campus, which, they explained, was about five miles to the north.

  “So…you get the treatment last night?” Suliman asked as they pulled onto Route 400.

  “The treatment?”

  “Let me guess,” Tennyson said. “The Palm for dinner. Stewart Jenkins showing up with some hot woman and everyone coming over to tell you why U of A is the place for you.”

  Terrell laughed. “I thought she was more obvious than hot,” he said.

  “Most of them are,” Suliman said, and they all laughed.

  Breakfast was in the student center, which was quiet on a Saturday. Even so, the team had its own table in a private room. He was introduced to everyone. No coaches were in sight. He was surprised. He had figured Coach Hathaway would be monitoring everything said to him.